


There are No Goodbyes, Only Hellos

by starfleetdicks



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Destined Return, Friendship/Love, Immortal Merlin, Implied Relationships, M/M, One Shot, Prophecy, True Love, Waiting for Arthur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-06
Updated: 2013-02-06
Packaged: 2017-11-28 09:55:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/673096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starfleetdicks/pseuds/starfleetdicks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When desperation was still thick in his veins, anger raw under his skin, and sadness threatening to drag him down deep, Merlin abandoned Avalon, abandoned waiting for Arthur. </p><p>Merthur One-Shot, Immortal!Merlin</p>
            </blockquote>





	There are No Goodbyes, Only Hellos

**Author's Note:**

> "Never say good-bye because good-bye means going away, and going away means forgetting." – Peter Pan

Some mornings, still lying wrapped in the covers, he convinces himself that it would have been easier to have said goodbye. The finality of the word, the sharp sting in his chest when he so much as thinks of its existence, would have been worth the ache.

Instead of peeling covers from his body, staring into ancient eyes, and making his circuit, he could be smiling at the waitress in the coffee shop by his flat. There could be carnival rides and poker nights and shouting in pubs. Or kisses trailed down the side of his neck, under his collar, following the button up of his shirt and deft fingers at his belt buckle. Instead of withered skin and tired bones, he could be young and passionate. Unbound from responsibilities, he could learn again the meaning of innocence and youth and pleasure. Define again what love is, a gift so long absent from his mind, he’s forgotten the taste of it most nights, guilty and lonely.

Like the young boy he met by chance, who looked so much like _him_ , he could be pursuing his own dreams, healing and working into the dark hours of the night tirelessly. Temptation taps at his eyelids, pulls at his lungs until he can’t breathe, tempts the precarious balance of powers locked deep within him.

Only once, in years of righteous fury, he left the shore forsaken.

When desperation was still thick in his veins, anger raw under his skin, and sadness threatening to drag him down deep, he left the waterline and let himself forget his destiny and promise and heartache and ruinous love’s hold. He forgot the shape of syllables in his mouth to call the titles and name. He forgot the language of enchantments and curses, trapped himself in unnecessary secrecy. He buried the memory of the battle, the deaths, the final betrayals, the eyes the color of a darkening sky that left his throat burning and eyes prickling.

It was only in the final days of Camelot that he let himself return and stand in the clear water of Avalon’s lake. It was only in his first signs of aging, his first cycle of this never ending life, that he found strength. Strength for shouting and cursing and fireballs sparked from nothing but guttural sounds. Earthquakes and rain and the echoing cry of thunder, the strength for the slow return of sunlight again as the storm passed, as they all do. When his strength left him, it was his courage that sat him at the edge of the water, feet numb with chill, and asked for forgiveness. And it was magic, that tickled warmth back into his feet, and forgave and eased the turmoil for a time.

Faithfully, he returned to the shore every morning, circled its circumference, waited at its gates. And nothing came as the years went, except the cycles of his own ages, marking the passage of time. So many hours of those lives he spent waiting at that shore.

Only once has he left the shore forsaken but sometimes it still eats at his mind. He could do it again. He could go through school over and over, learn every job, every skill, meet a million new people, go to the moon, invent something, invite friends over for board games, learn to sing, learn to act, finally learn swordplay.

Every day, he returns and sits and complains because it’s his fault. He did this. He couldn’t stop the promise of destiny, so cruelly vague and hopefully, when no other outcome could have come about. It was he who gave no warning, no safe passages to salvation. And it was he who said that there would be no goodbyes, who sealed his fate, who cracked his heart open and left it waiting.

And he cannot bring himself to forget. He cannot bring himself to give up. He will never love again, in the same way he did. He would never survive all the lifetimes he has without the lake. There would be no forgiveness in his heart for his own betrayal. And he is tired of betrayal and secrets and doubts.

On the best days, he arrives early, with magic and paper boats and strengthened promise. Those days, he remembers why he pled for Arthur’s silence, why he refused goodbyes looking down at that paling face framed in gold. He remembers the touch and what he was given, he remembers absolution.

There is no giving up on Arthur.

There is no limit to the lifetimes he would give to spend just another with Arthur by his side, and so he continues to give. Because he remembers the laughter they shared, the battles they fought together, the constant companionship, comfort, the barriers they overcame. And he remembers the subtle nobility of Arthur, that made him burst with pride in quiet moments. He remembers silent affections, unfiltered looks, familiarity deeper than any he shared with another, and a love beyond physicality and declarations. 

He remembers the promise the Great Dragon gave him, the color of the lake, the incantation, the resolve he found to carry on as the boat rode the current and bore Arthur away.

Because one day Arthur would return, would come dripping indignant and beautiful from the lake, and look expectantly for his faithful friend. And Merlin, from his perch on the shore, would offer him a tentative, “Hello.”


End file.
